


no Brasil

by rabidchild67



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst and Porn, M/M, One Night Stands, Pining, Post-Relationship, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:59:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3130424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I don't know what's wrong with me that I can’t enjoy this, enjoy him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no Brasil

**Author's Note:**

> So there was a[Pinto Kink meme prompt](http://pintokinkmeme.livejournal.com/1523.html?thread=739315#t739315%20) that inspired this fic, but this is the complete opposite of what the OP wanted, so it doesn’t really count. The person in this story is the one with his arm around Chris in [this photo](http://lulacerda.ig.com.br/wp-content/gallery/cafe-de-la-musique-trancoso-dia-3/maria-alice-richter-petrelli-alvarinho-chris-pine-alvaro-garnero-cris-arcangeli-e-mauricio-ramires.jpg). I am not using his real name since I don’t know if he’s some random dude or whatever.
> 
> The title, according to Google, means "in Brazil" in Portuguese

His name, he says, is Denis. 

I don't know what's wrong with me that I can’t enjoy this, enjoy him. He is, objectively, the most beautiful person I have been with in years, tall and lean, with pouty lips the color of wine. His wide eyes dance when he speaks, the sexiest mix of Portuguese, English and I don't know French? that I have yet experienced. For a man who has traveled around the world twice, that is saying something. 

“Chris,” he says into my ear, and I love the way he hits the R, “Chris come to my rooms, yes? My uh, my flat? I want to go with you.”

He looks down at me then, leans into my personal space and smiles and I wonder just how many people he's used those sparkling eyes and that sweet smile on. It's a deadly mix of knowing and innocence that I recognize as completely genuine because I used to use it myself, and with great success. I realize in that moment he can't be more than 20 and I find I don't much care.

“Sure. OK,” I find myself saying and the smile I get in response almost dispels all my misgivings. This is supposed to be a working vacation, emphasis on the work now the holidays are over, and I shouldn't. But his kisses are so sweet and I am already hard thinking about what he can do with those lush lips and why the hell not. 

“My place though,” I insist. “I have a suite.” 

We're barely inside the door before he's on his knees in front of me, hands inside my pants with near record speed, not that I think there are objective measurements of such things. My dick jumps in his hand and he looks up at me with an expression of such joyful excitement I wish I could take it with me. Sure it's a total ego boost to have this beautiful boy ready and eager for me, but it disgusts me that I'm so easily and effectively flattered. I chalk it up to the _Cachaça_ and try to feel better about it. Then his mouth is on me and I forget. 

His cheeks hollow and the line of his jaw is as sharp as a knife as he swallows me down. I can't say if I've had better head than this before in my entire life, I really can't. But it's been so long since I've been with anyone, I’m willing to lay down money on it. 

I know I'll shoot in record time, so I reach down and lay my hand along the side of his face. His eyelashes are clumped together as he looks up at me, spit slicking his chin. “ _O quê_?” he asks as he pulls off. _What?_ His youth is nearly a shock in that moment. 

“You are too good at that,” I say and he grins. I put my fingertips beneath the fuzz on his jaw and apply pressure, encouraging him to stand. He's wearing loose khaki pants that ride low on his hips, and they are doing a poor job of hiding his erection. I pull him in for a kiss, can't resist the urge to bite that full lower lip as I palm him through his pants roughly. He squirms deliciously.

“Let's go to the bedroom,” I say and he nods eagerly. I take his hand and lead the way, leave him on the bed while I go to the bathroom for my Dopp kit. I root around in it, hoping I left some lube in there one of the last few times I traveled (because I know I didn't pack any this time). I finally find it at the very bottom, under a packet of skin toner cloths I never use, grab a strip of condoms, and head back to the bedroom.

“Oh,” he says brightly, looking up at me in surprise. I see he’s got a dime bag of coke and he’s laid out a couple of lines on the glass top of the desk. He rolls up a five-Real note into a thin tube. “You want?”

I’m half tempted, because I think I can really use the boost tonight, but I shake my head. “Knock yourself out,” I say, waving a hand. “But only one line, OK?” He looks disappointed, like a spoiled child who’s been scolded, but on this I remain firm. I don't want a situation on my hands. “I need you to be good for me,” I add, reaching down to palm his dick through his pants. He knows what kind of “good” I mean. 

I wait for him to be done, impatient. When he looks up at me with a smile, I can see the edge to it and hope it'll be to my advantage. I think so.

He stands, giggling, and reaches for me clumsily. It’s borderline annoying, so I reach up for a kiss. He’s just tall enough I have to rise up on my toes a little. It’s different.

We make it to the bed and stretch out, and that talented mouth of his takes over yet again. He’s got a hand on my clavicle, kissing my throat. His beard is maybe a bit too much, too reminiscent of someone I didn't want to think about tonight. “Fuck me,” I say, and reach for the lube and a rubber. “Come on, right now.”

He smiles at me hungrily, the coke having stripped him of his boyish charms, and backs off the bed to undress. I do the same and when I turn around, he’s standing there naked, his dick practically poking me in the eye. He's smaller than I'd have expected for a guy his height, but that suits my mood perfectly, actually. I need to be fucked, and the less time wasted, the better. 

“Mmm,” I say, looking up at him and licking my lips. I’m a good actor – some would say better than good – and I put it to effective use as I widen my eyes and put on my impressed face. He smirks, proud, and I turn away. 

I grab for the lube and slather some on my hand, leaning on the bed on one hand as I reach around to stick two fingers in right off the bat. My hole is too tight and it burns, but I’m impatient for this, and I curse as I back it off to just my middle finger. 

Denis stands there, stroking himself for lack of anything better to do. After a few minutes, I judge myself ready and grab the condom. “Here put this on,” I tell him, and get on all fours.

I feel a warm hand on my lower back and his body beside me as I turn my head. “You’re sure? Like this? You don’t want to be face to face?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, I like it just like this.” I kiss him, and when we part, I keep my eyes closed. “Just like this.”

He rests a knee on the bed and lines his dick up with my hole; I can feel the slick on it as it prods at me, and then he presses in. I curse; the burn is more than I expected and I reach behind me, put a hand on his hip to slow him down. I can feel the sweat begin to pour from my pores and I take a deep breath and then another. “OK,” I say a minute later as I bring my hand back down to the bedspread, and he presses in again. 

It’s better once the head’s in, easier, and I try bearing down. I want all of him as quickly as possible; there’s a particular itch I need scratched and I’m hoping this will do it. I push back onto him, teeth gritted, and he grunts in surprise. 

“Ai, slow down, I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, leaning over my back. I can feel the ridiculous string of rosary beads he’s wearing pressing into my skin and I want to laugh hysterically.

He’s probably right about going too fast though, so I back off a little. A minute later, he must judge it OK to start fucking me properly, and he starts pumping, too shallowly and too quickly, like a dog. I roll my eyes and turn my head. “No, _hard._ Like, really hard, OK?”

“ _Sim_ , yeah, OK,” he says and backs up off me again, dropping a hand to the bed beside me. After a few strokes, the burn turns to pleasure at last, and my hard-on, which had been flagging to this point, reasserts itself. This time he does a better job of it, grunting with effort after every third thrust or so. He’s right on top of me for leverage, his weight a bit much for my arms to bear, so I give up and sink down onto the mattress, first onto my elbows, then my belly. His breath is ragged in my ears as he pumps into me. Then he kisses me on the shoulder near my neck and I crane my head back. 

“Bite me,” I order.

“ _O Que_?”

“Bite me, come on, now!”

He does, tentatively, but it’s enough and I’m transported.

_”Yeah, you’re so good like this,” Zach would say, licking the sting away. “So fucking open and good for me, Christopher. God, I love you, I love you, I love you.” And then he’d come, his forearm across my throat, almost too tight, drilling me into the mattress before finally reaching down and getting me off with a handful of hard, fast strokes._

That’s when I come, humping the mattress mindlessly, the only thoughts in my head of a time before; before Hawaiian vacation photos and New York lofts and squandered chances. 

When I’m done, my face is wet, and it’s not just from sweat. I wipe my eyes against my forearm and shake Denis off, tell him to come on my ass like in some ridiculous porno, which he does, and then he falls down to the bed beside me and I turn over to leave him the wet spot.

“You should probably go,” I say after a while, turning to face him. I kiss his shoulder.

“Sure,” he says and gets out of the bed with way more energy than I recall having at his age. He bends over and grabs his pants and shirt. “Was I good for you?” he asks. 

“Yeah, sure.” I raise my hand and shove it under my head, try to look nonchalant. 

“Did I help you remember, or forget?”

“What?”

He cocks his head to the side. The cocaine-fueled edge he had before is gone, and he looks like a boy again. “The man whose name you shouted, did I help you remember or forget him?” 

“Neither,” I say sadly. “And both.”

\----

Thank you for your time.


End file.
